


A Strange and Feral Creature

by xxSparksxx



Series: And Then There Were Two [6]
Category: And Then There Were None (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6561508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/pseuds/xxSparksxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She does feel cared for, with Philip. He’s harsh and unrelenting. He uncovers all her secrets and weaknesses with breathtaking ease. He doesn’t hesitate in using strength against her, or his peculiar insight into her mind. She hates him for it, when he makes her give up truths that she’s kept secret for so long. But then he’s tender, too. He holds her after her nightmares and never tells her to stop crying. He kisses her as though he never wants to stop. He lets her steal his shirt for a nightdress, and remembers that she likes sugar in her tea but not her coffee.</p><p>And he takes her dancing when she’s in danger of losing control and letting out the twisted, ugly thing that lurks behind her teeth and beneath her skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Strange and Feral Creature

**Author's Note:**

> This one did like ‘The Viper’s Skin’ and grew on me. It was meant to be light-hearted smut, and turned into something else. Massive, massive thank yous, as ever, to rainpuddle13 and mmmuses, who listen to my enthusing about Vera’s complexity, suffer my moaning about Vera not doing what I want to her, and then kick the finished fic into shape for me.

Vera kicks off her shoes and sinks down onto the bed. It has been another long day. Her feet are sore. Her head is aching. She has spent all day walking the streets of New York, trying to find a job and being turned down everywhere. She has skills, she has references. But she’s an immigrant, in a city filled with immigrants, and nobody, it seems, wants to employ a British secretary. No matter how good her references, no matter how much work she’s put in to improving her shorthand and typing. Every interview ends with a polite smile, and at most a bland offering of ‘we’ll let you know’.

She’ll find a job eventually. Something will turn up, she’s sure of it. She’s just not sure she can stand the boredom of being unemployed in the meantime. The endless tedium of walking from one agency to another, hoping one of them will have put her forward for a position. Hoping that someone will give her a break. And then, when she’s unsuccessful, going back to Mrs Flynn’s boarding house. The bedroom is a decent size, with a little hotplate and a kettle, and there’s a bathroom that they only have to share with one other lodger. But Mrs Flynn dislikes Vera, and the feeling is mutual. There’s no cheerful reception in this house. No friendly landlady offering commiserations for Vera’s fruitless day. They’ve been staying here for three weeks now, she and Philip, and Vera will be unspeakably glad when they are finally able to move on.

Even in their rented bedroom, there is no warm welcome. Philip has been gone for four days now. On a job, he’d said, but he wouldn’t tell her anything else. Four days and three nights. Vera hates how dependant on him she has become. She misses him. She feels his absence like an ache, like the gap after a tooth’s been pulled out. He hadn’t been able to tell her when he would be back, not precisely. Three days, perhaps, he’d said. Not longer than a week. She is trying not to count the days. She certainly shouldn’t expect him back quickly, shouldn’t _want_ him back, not the way she does. She shouldn’t want it so much. 

After years of isolation, of loneliness, Vera refuses to feel isolated or lonely for a handful of days without Philip. His absence is something that will be repeated, no doubt, for she knows the kind of work he engages in. This will be the first of many occasions when he will have to leave her, for a few days or a few weeks at a time.

But oh, how Vera wishes he were here now. She falls backwards, stretching out on the bed. Her feet dangle over the edge. She should get up; change out of her work suit and into something more comfortable. She should heat up the remains of the pie she’d bought yesterday. Should, should, should. Vera is fed up of ‘should’. She lies boneless on the bed and idly wonders if perhaps she might have more luck finding a job if she were to wear different clothes. She’s no stranger to using her body to get what she wants; perhaps if she wore a different blouse, or hemmed her skirt a little higher…

The doorknob rattles. Vera sits up again, mouth open to tell Mrs Flynn that she doesn’t want to be disturbed. But the words die soundless on her lips when the door opens and it’s Philip. _Philip_ , not Mrs Flynn, not Mrs Flynn’s little drudge of a maid. Philip, in his pinstriped suit, hair slicked back, looking just the same as when he’d left her four days before. He doesn’t smile when he sees her, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that shows her that he’s pleased to see her.

Vera’s first instinct is to fly up from the bed, to hurl herself into his arms and kiss him. But she ruthlessly suppresses that instinct. He already has enough advantages over her, and she refuses to give him another. But she lets herself smile, and when he closes the gap between them she lifts her head to receive the kiss he gives her as greeting. It’s a chaste kiss, by their standards, but by the end of it he’s leaning over her, his hands on her legs. He slides his fingers up from her ankles to her knees, up to where her suspender belt clips on to her stockings. He kisses her once more, a tender press of lips to lips, and then he gives her a moment catch her breath. 

“Now that’s a lovely sight to come home to,” he says, murmuring the words against her mouth. “Such beautiful legs. First thing I noticed about you.”

“I remember,” says Vera, tilting her head in a coquettish manner. “I thought you were insufferable.” Philip knows that already, of course, and he chuckles. His hands don’t leave her legs, but they don’t move any higher, either. “But this is hardly a home,” she adds. She doesn’t mean it as a criticism, and it’s only after the words are spoken that she realises that Philip could take it as one. But he shrugs his shoulders easily. If he feels any irritation over her thoughtless comment, he doesn’t show it. 

“True enough,” he says. “Still, at least you’ve not killed Mrs Flynn. I wasn’t sure if I’d find her still breathing when I got back.” Vera huffs her displeasure, and Philip chuckles again. “You look tired, darling,” he observes, finally taking his hands from her legs. He steps away from her, shrugging off his jacket and going to the dresser. He picks up the leftover pie and sniffs it, then puts the hotplate on. Vera lets her gaze drift downwards, to the curve of his buttocks in his trousers. Philip catches her staring, when he turns back to her. His mouth curves into a smirk. Vera doesn’t blush. She has too much control over herself to blush. But the knowing look he gives her makes her heart beat a little faster. “What have you been up to?” he asks her. “Still looking for a job?”

Vera sighs, and lifts her feet up onto the bed so she can try to rub the aches away. “Yes,” she says. “I’ll find something eventually.” War in Europe is bound to have an effect on jobs here, even if the US doesn’t join the fight. She’ll find something, she assures herself. She’s clever, and experienced, and determined. She’ll find a job, sooner or later. In the meantime, though, she’s painfully aware that her small savings have been considerably depleted. Philip has paid for this room, and has seemed willing to pay for other things, but Vera has never relied upon anyone else to keep her sheltered, fed and clothed. Not since her part-time job as a personal secretary, while she paid her own way through university. 

She’s dependant on Philip for far too much as it is. She needs to earn. She needs that.

Philip looks as though he wants to say something. They’ve not discussed it, her need to have a job. Many men, Vera knows, would object to their wives working. Not that she’s his wife, not properly. She’s got a ring on her finger and she uses his name, but there’s been no wedding. She hasn’t promised the things that a wife has to promise. So he has no right to stop her working, no right at all. Vera can’t give up her independence. A wage, even a small wage, will mean money of her own. Her savings can be built up again. A nest egg for a rainy day.

Because Vera needs to know she has an escape route, if everything goes sour. If this strange relationship falls apart. _When_ , she thinks to herself. _When_ it falls apart. Nothing lasts forever, and she still has no idea what Philip wants from her. What he sees in her. She has no idea if he’s as lost in this as she is, and that makes her aware, constantly aware, of how dangerous this situation could become for her. 

“It’ll be easier when we’re settled,” is what he says, just as Vera feels the silence is becoming too tense. “With a fixed address.” Vera nods, not trusting herself to speak. She massages her feet and waits for his next move. “Are you too tired to go out?” Philip asks then, abruptly.

“Out?” Vera repeats. She’s thrown by the change of subject. “Out where?”

“Celebrating,” Philip says. “There’s a dance hall nearby. I know how you love dancing.” His eyes are dark. Hungry. He’s thinking about her dancing, Vera guesses. He’s thinking about her legs as she dances, how her dress will swirl around her knees as she spins around a dance floor. She danced with him on the ship, after that first disastrous evening. She knows he likes to watch her, as well as dance with her. She knows he likes to see her breaking free of the cocoon of dull conformity that she hasn’t yet been able to shake off fully.

“I do,” she agrees. Her feet aren’t so sore now, and they’ll eat before they go out, which will help her weary body. She’ll brew some coffee, too. She’s not too tired to pass up dancing, with Philip or with anyone else. Especially not when his eyes are like that, when his gaze is fixed upon her as if he wants to devour her. “The job went well, then?” she asks him. She’s not sure she wants to know; she’s not sure he’ll answer. Philip nods, but offers no other information. He’d said, before he went, that it would pay well. She wonders what a well-paying job involves, for a man like Philip. 

She remembers how he’d looked, on Soldier Island, with blood on his hands. She’d been fascinated then. The memory of it makes her breath catch in her throat. There’s no sign of blood on him now, no visible injury. She’ll see, later, whether his clothes hide anything. She wonders what he’s done. She wonders if he’d tell her, if she asked. 

“I’ll put some coffee on,” says Vera, shaking herself free of the idea. She swings her legs back around, putting her feet back on the floor. “There’s enough pie for us both, I think.” She joins him beside the hotplate, and Philip puts his arm around her waist as she puts the kettle to heat. Then his hand slides a little lower, to her rear, and Vera glances up at him from under her eyelashes. “Did you want to go out?” she inquires archly, “or shall we just stay in?”

“Out,” Philip says, squeezing her buttock and then returning his hand to her waist. “I want to see you dancing.” He lowers his head and nuzzles at her neck. It’s as if he can’t stop himself from touching her, as if four days away had made him hungrier than ever. Vera tilts her own head, baring her neck for him, giving him greater access. She’s conscious of how vulnerable this makes her, but his mouth is gentle. He kisses her skin, caressing her neck with his lips. No bites this time, no scrape of teeth. It’s tender. Vera grasps the edge of the dresser, a shiver threatening to creep up from the base of her spine. “Mmm,” Philip murmurs. “I’ve missed you, darling.”

Vera does shiver now, but not from pleasure. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know how to respond to that. She feels frozen. Philip’s hand is warm at her waist, his body warm against her side, but Vera is cold. Philip has never…he’s _never_ yet said anything like that, anything to indicate that he…that he might…

She can’t process it. She wonders if she misheard, if her own twisted mind made her hear what hasn’t been said. Then Philip sighs, a heavy exhalation, and she knows she did hear it. He did say it.

“Don’t do that,” he says. It’s more an entreaty than an order. It’s spoken softly, wearily. “It’s a fact, Vera,” he adds. “I missed you. Don’t disappear into your head, hm?” He kisses her neck again, and then withdraws his mouth and hand both. “Do you want me to make the coffee?” he asks. He’s moving on, drawing her back into mundane conversation. She knows he’s doing it, she knows he doesn’t want her to dwell on what he’s said. But Vera wants to be moved on. She doesn’t want to think about what it means that he’s said he missed her. She wants to focus on enjoying this evening, on dancing with Philip and all the pleasures that will come after. So she lets him turn the conversation, and shakes her head at him.

“No, I’ll do it,” she says. “Your coffee is truly atrocious.” Philip chuckles, and doesn’t deny it. If he feels any of the tension that still grips her, he doesn’t draw attention to it. It could be as if he never said it, never said that he missed her, except that Vera keeps hearing the words in her head. Over and over she hears him saying it. _I’ve missed you, darling_.

But Vera is nothing if not a liar, and she cloaks herself with pretence now. She pretends she’s calm, and excited to go out, and nothing else. For once, Philip lets her pretend. He asks her about her job interviews, about her applications. They talk casually while Vera makes coffee, and eat the leftover pie without bothering to heat it up. By the time they’ve eaten, Vera feels easy again. Philip has said nothing else to perturb her. The conversation has been unforced and full of the kind of teasing that Vera has become comfortable with, between she and Philip. It relaxes her, until her pretence becomes a reality and her anticipation of the evening is no longer a mask.

“Are you changing?” she asks, stripping off her work suit as Philip puts the dirty cups neatly on the dresser. Her red dress is pressed and waiting in the wardrobe, and she crosses the room in her underwear, sharply conscious of the way he’s looking at her.

“No, I won’t bother,” he says. “You’re wearing the red dress?” 

Vera throws a smirk over her shoulder at him, amused by the casualness in his tone. “It’s the only thing I’ve got that’s fit for dancing,” she tells him. She has other clothes, but nothing else to go dancing in. She’d had more than one pretty frock, once upon a time, but she’d got rid of the others after Hugo. They had been painful reminders of what had happened, and she’d sold them for a few shillings apiece. All that’s left of those days is the red dress, and her red high heels. Perhaps, once she has a job here, she’ll buy another dress, or have one made. She’s no seamstress herself, but it won’t be hard to find a good dressmaker.

She takes the dress off the hanger, and finds the shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe. Her second-best stockings will do. Vera hesitates for a moment, and glances at Philip. He’s watching her, hungry. Eyes dark, lips parted just slightly. She knows what she looks like, she knows how the sight of her excites him. Bra and knickers, stockings and suspender belt. Nothing else covering her smooth skin. She’s not naked, but she’s exposed. She is exposing herself for him, because she loves the way he’s looking at her now. As if, despite his insistence on going out, he’d like to have her now. On the bed, or against the wall, shoving aside her knickers so he can press his cock deep inside her.

Vera meets his eyes, and doesn’t look away from him as she unclips her stockings from her suspender belt. One clip at a time. Philip’s eyebrow lifts slightly, curious. Vera says nothing, but once the stockings are free, she pushes down her knickers and kicks them aside. Then she has to look away, just briefly, to clip the stockings on again. 

“My, my,” Philip murmurs. “Mrs Lombard. What a deliciously improper thing you are.”

“I won’t want to wait,” Vera says. She stands still, arms dangling at her sides, letting him look his fill. “When we get back,” she adds, clarifying when he frowns. “I won’t want to wait. And I don’t have enough knickers for you to be ripping them off me. This way’s simpler, don’t you think?”

“Oh, much,” he agrees. He comes towards her, stalking her, and Vera takes a step backwards from instinct. Her back meets the wardrobe, the wood cold and hard against her skin. Philip puts his arms either side of her, hands on the wardrobe, trapping her against it. Vera shivers, but not from fear. Philip’s hunger is written across his face, and it feeds her own desire. She feels so deliciously _exposed_. He’s not even touching her, his arms too widely spaced. She can feel his breath against her face, but that’s all. “My Vera,” he says softly. He lowers his head and kisses her. Vera lifts her hand to grasp his shirt and she presses against him, hungry for him. So hungry. He nips at her lips and pulls away, laughing when she makes a frustrated noise. “Later,” he promises. “Don’t you want to go dancing, darling?”

“You’re such a bastard,” Vera says. There’s more fondness in her voice than she would like, but she can’t help that now. Philip smirks at her.

“Get dressed,” he tells her. “I want to dance with you.”

That’s enticement enough to make her forgive his teasing. Vera puts on her dress and her red shoes, and refreshes her make-up in front of the small mirror on the wardrobe door. Philip puts his jacket back on, and helps her into her coat. It’s mild for October, or so Vera has been told, but it will grow colder later, and she’ll be glad to have it on their way back from the dance hall. A last glance in the mirror, and then Vera is ready to go. 

Mrs Flynn calls out to them when they reach the bottom of the stairs. Vera glances at Philip with a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t look much happier at the delay than she is, but after a moment he shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, as if to say there’s nothing for it. 

“You go and wait outside,” he suggests. “No need for you to get all riled up tonight.” He glances her over, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Well, not by this,” he adds. 

Vera opens her mouth to retort, but then Mrs Flynn calls out again. Vera huffs out an irritated breath and shakes her head. If he’ll deal with Mrs Flynn and spare Vera, she can let his insinuation slide. So Philip goes into the parlour and Vera goes out of the front door, fumbling in her pockets for cigarettes and matchbook. She needs a smoke. She’s looking forward to the evening, but Mrs Flynn has been rubbing against her every nerve, these last few weeks. Vera has gone beyond patience and endurance and has been putting serious thought into how she might dispose of the woman. 

“You’re scheming, Vera,” says Philip. She hadn’t heard him come out, too lost in her own thoughts. He’s looking at her with delight, his amused smile oddly boyish. “Tell me about it later?” He holds his hand out for her cigarette, and she gives it to him. Sharing a cigarette is an intimate gesture that’s crept into their relationship, these last few weeks. There’s something seductive about seeing his mouth where her own has just been. He feels the same, she knows. She sees it in the way he looks at her, when he passes back the cigarette and she takes a drag. 

“Just Mrs Flynn,” she says. “A bar of soap on the stairs is looking more and more attractive.” She accepts his offered arm and lets him lead the way. She dimly recalls seeing a dance hall nearby, in her treks around the neighbourhood and further afield, but she can’t remember exactly where it is. “What did she want?” she asks.

“Oh, just the rent for the next week,” Philip says. Vera grits her teeth and makes no remark. Another week. There’s nowhere to move to, after all, and it’s a decent boarding house. The bed linens are clean. The bathroom is immaculate. Breakfast is provided every day. There’s no reason to complain, even with Mrs Flynn’s prejudice against her. Philip chuckles and pats her hand. “It’s not for much longer,” he says. “I promise, now I’ve started making contacts, we’ll find a place.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if I could get a job,” she admits, as they turn a corner of the street and pass out of sight of the lodging house. “I’m bored out of my mind, Philip.”

“I know. Why do you think we’re going out tonight?” His grin is sharp, baring his teeth. “You need to have some fun.” A month ago Vera would have been uncomfortable at the way he can see through her so easily. He has been able to tell, with a handful of words and a brief kiss, that she’s wound too tight. A month ago, two months ago, she would have tried to retreat from it. But she’s learning to find pleasure in it, in being seen by him. There are times, of course, when he uses it against her. But when he doesn’t, when he uses it like this as a way to make her feel safe and cared for…there’s no discomfort in _that_. 

She does feel cared for, with Philip. He’s harsh and unrelenting. He uncovers all her secrets and weaknesses with breathtaking ease. He doesn’t hesitate in using strength against her, or his peculiar insight into her mind. She hates him for it, when he makes her give up truths that she’s kept secret for so long. But then he’s tender, too. He holds her after her nightmares and never tells her to stop crying. He kisses her as though he never wants to stop. He lets her steal his shirt for a nightdress, and remembers that she likes sugar in her tea but not her coffee.

And he takes her dancing when she’s in danger of losing control and letting out the twisted, ugly thing that lurks behind her teeth and beneath her skin. She can’t kill Mrs Flynn, not really. There would be no easy way to do it without drawing suspicion upon them, and they’re too new to the country to want to draw attention. She can’t kill the wretched woman, and so Philip is taking her out to let off steam in another way. There’s a feeling in her heart, a warmth that she still hesitates to name, at the way he’s taking care of her. The way he’s keeping her safe.

She squeezes his arm a little and smiles back at him. “I do,” she agrees. “I do need some fun.”

They hear the dance hall before they reach it; the music is loud enough to be heard halfway down the street. Light spills out from the double doors, light and music and laughter. People, too. There are throngs of young women, young men in groups of twos or threes, couples with linked hands or linked arms, all coming and going in a constant stream. Mostly they seem to be about her own age, or younger. Philip, she guesses, will be one of the oldest there tonight. Vera hopes he won’t find it too dull. She can already feel her spirits lifting just from the rhythm of the music. 

“No games, tonight,” Philip murmurs, once they’ve paid the entrance fee and are inside. “I want you all to myself.”

Vera glances up at him, coyly, from beneath her eyelashes. “I’m not dressed up for anyone else,” she says. Dressed up and dressed down, her pretty red dress and no knickers underneath. She knows Philip’s thinking about it, about how he won’t have to wait to undress her, later. A corner of his mouth is lifted in a slow, lazy smile. There’s hunger there, but it’s patient. He’s patient. 

She hasn’t dressed like this for other men. She doesn’t want to dance with other men. She doesn’t want to play games. She wants _him_ , she wants Philip’s arms around her and his beautiful dark eyes fixed on her. And later, when they’re back in that awful boarding house and she’s drunk on music and dancing and frivolity, she’ll want him to fuck her. Not because he’s jealous, not because he’s staking a claim, but because he wants her as much as she wants him. 

“Good,” Philip says. He dips his head to kiss her, a chaste brush of lips against lips. It’s all that’s really appropriate, in the crowded dance hall. Vera wants more, but they’re in public, and she knows how to play a part. Philip smirks at her when he pulls back, as if he knows what she’s thinking. Vera makes sure the expression on her face is innocent and content. He won’t be fooled, but nobody watching will guess at her inner thoughts.

Philip takes her onto the dance floor almost at once. The band is playing a fast number, the kind of dance that Vera loves but that Philip has professed little skill in, when they’d danced on the ship. Still, he’s light on his feet, and athletic, and when he makes mistakes he laughs at himself. Vera has had worse dance partners. And besides, there’s a thrill in dancing with Philip, especially when he’s brought her here to take care of her. To please her. She loves the way his gaze is constantly focused on her, just her. No other woman in the place gets so much as a second glance. She loves the way he sends her spinning just so her skirt will twirl around and reveal glimpses of her legs. There’s a special pleasure in knowing that later, when they’re back in their room in the boarding house, he’ll hike her skirt up around her waist and _take_ her. She won’t have to undress. She’ll be just as she is now, secretly indecent in front of crowds of people. Only Philip knows what’s hidden beneath the surface.

They dance for a while, and then pause for a rest when Vera’s breathless and full of laughter. Vera finds a seat while Philip goes to fetch something to drink. They’ve hardly been apart for more than a couple of minutes before she’s approached by a young man asking her to dance. He’s handsome, in a clean-cut sort of way. Blond hair, brown eyes. He seems terribly young to Vera. No guile in him, none at all. No depths. Vera knows this sort of man. She might have danced with him, once upon a time, or another man like him, but not tonight. Not now. She looks at this boy and measures him against Philip, and finds him wanting. There’s simply no comparison.

She _could_ play with this boy. She could put on a mask and be what he wants her to be, young and innocent and naively flirtatious. She’s done it before, so many times. But she doesn’t have to put on a show with Philip. He just wants her to be _herself_ , Vera Claythorne. Vera Lombard. Nobody has ever wanted that from her before, and Vera…

Vera doesn’t want to lose that. It’s too precious to her. Certainly too precious to give up for the sake of playing a game with a young man who doesn’t know any better, especially when Philip has already warned her against games for tonight.

“I’m here with my husband,” she says. “He’s just fetching us drinks.” The boy looks downcast, but still he waits for some clearer answer. Vera admires his tenacity, but it doesn’t change her mind. “We’re here celebrating,” she says. “I don’t want to dance with anyone except him, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, of course, I get it,” the boy says. His cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry to intrude, ma’am.” He turns away and almost bumps into Philip, who’s returned with a drink in each hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” the boy mutters. “I’ll just –,” He stumbles away, and Philip lifts an eyebrow at Vera.

“He looks like a better dancer than I am,” he says. His sharp eyes have observed a lot more than that, Vera knows. She holds out a hand for her drink and lets herself smile, just a little.

“Quite probably,” she agrees. “But I’m here with you.” He gives her the glass, and Vera keeps her eyes on him as she takes a sip. American beer leaves much to be desired, but it’s something to drink, at least, and the unfamiliarity of it will wear off eventually. She watches him as he glances her over. Then Philip smiles, satisfied, and he nods. He’s pleased with her. Vera made the right decision. The feeling of it is like a warm glow spreading beneath her skin, into her veins. She’s pleased him. She was herself; she didn’t put on any masks or paint herself with lies. She didn’t try to play him, as she’d tried that night on the ship, and he’s proud of her for it. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he takes a seat beside her. Vera blames her blush on the heat of the room. A throb of lust goes through her, pebbling her nipples and making her cross her legs to disguise her need to squirm. Philip laughs softly, though when she glances at him he’s not even looking at her. He’s watching the people on the dance floor and drinking his beer. He doesn’t need to look to know the effect he has on her. Of course he doesn’t. He’s spent the past six weeks learning how to set her going, learning what makes her hot.

He reaches over, still not looking, and takes her hand. His thumb rubs over her wedding ring. Vera can’t tell what he’s thinking, and it’s an odd gesture, but not an unpleasant or unwelcome one.

They dance again after they finish their beers. Fast dances that leave Vera breathless and often laughing at Philip’s determined effort to match her. Slow dances where Philip holds her close and murmurs into her ear the things he’s planning to do with her later, when they’re back at the boarding house. If he’s trying to make her blush, it works. She’s usually too good a liar to let her body react so obviously, but now she blushes. At least the heat of the dance hall will disguise it; most people around them are a little flushed. Philip’s mouth brushes against her ear as he says things that would get them thrown out of here if he said them out loud, and Vera feels her cheeks burning. She feels her breath quicken a little and her cunt growing wet. He’s not unaffected either. She can feel his cock against her hip, not fully hard but hard enough that it’ll show when she’s not pressed against him concealing it.

“Had enough dancing, darling?” he asks her at last, when it’s nearing eleven and the band have played four slow dances in a row. Vera almost wants to say no, to prolong the pleasure and the anticipation. She has enjoyed dancing with him. But it’s growing late, and she can hear a roughness in Philip’s voice that says he doesn’t want to keep dancing either, though she thinks he would, if she wanted.

Besides, Mrs Flynn has a curfew, and Vera doesn’t fancy trying to sneak in like a miscreant youngster.

“For tonight,” she agrees. “Bring me again, though.” It’s not a request, and Philip doesn’t take it as one. He nods and agrees without hesitation, though she knows he’s not as fond of dancing as she is. The awareness of that, the awareness of his willingness to please her, is intoxicating. Vera links her arm through his and laughs at nothing. “Home, then,” she says. Then she grimaces. “Mrs Flynn’s, I mean.”

“Not quite,” Philip corrects her. “I’ve got a surprise for you, first.” He won’t say anything more, though he seems to take immense satisfaction in her curiosity. He listens to her questions with an amused smirk, until Vera huffs her irritation. Then he gives her a chaste kiss and says, “Wait and see.”

The cool night air outside the dance hall is refreshing, and Vera declines her coat and inhales the scents and sounds of New York. Every place she has lived has sounded different, smelled different, and New York is no exception. Already she’s growing used to the idiosyncrasies of it. A breeze ruffles her hair. Down the street, somebody is shouting in what sounds like a mixture of English and Italian. She doesn’t speak the latter, but she grasps the meaning of it. A couple fighting, a boyfriend caught cheating on his girlfriend.

“If you ever do that to me, I’ll kill you,” she says to Philip. It’s not an idle threat. From somebody else it might be, but Vera is a killer, just like Philip. She has killed before. Philip knows the truth of what she is; he’ll know it’s not just words. 

“Not my style,” says Philip briefly. He’s looking up and down the street, searching for something. “Besides,” he adds, “where would I find anyone more interesting than you?”

Vera can’t answer, both because she’s too startled and because he finds what he’s looking for and lets out an ear-splitting whistle. She flinches, but in a moment a taxicab comes hurtling towards them, coming to a halt at the curb side in response to Philip’s whistle. Her heartbeat seems too loud, there’s blood rushing in her ears, so she misses the address that Philip gives the driver. All she can do is get into the taxi and take a few precious moments to calm herself while Philip goes around to get in on the other side. It’s like earlier, when he’d said he missed her. She feels the same fear, the same icy shiver down her spine. It was a throwaway comment, she tells herself. Said without thought while he was distracted looking for a cab. 

But those comments, Vera knows, are often the most true. 

Philip settles her coat over her knees. “You look cold,” he says. “Here, come and lean against me.” Vera lets him rearrange her, pulling her closer to him. Her limbs feel heavy and unresponsive. She hasn’t had much to drink, but she feels out of control in the same way that being drunk makes her out of control. The driver makes some comment about the evening; Philip responds. Vera closes her eyes and tries to concentrate on breathing. She’s interesting to him, she tells herself, and so she’ll have to stay interesting, or else…or else he’ll go. Like everything else she’s valued in her life, he’ll go. Sooner or later. Surely, surely he can’t mean…

His hand rests on her knee, beneath the coat. Philip’s still conversing with the taxi driver when his fingers slip beneath her skirt and move higher up her leg. Vera opens her eyes and looks at him. His eyes glitter in the lights that shine in from the buildings they pass. He lifts his other hand and puts his finger to his lips. Quiet, he orders. Vera shakes her head, urgently, but Philip’s fingers continue their quest up her leg, across her inner thigh. Her breath catches in her throat. She can’t believe he’s doing this, in a cab where they could be discovered at any moment. Her cold fear disappears under a wave of arousal. His eyes are fixed on her. His finger slides against the outer lips of her sex and finds the slickness within.

“Philip,” she whispers. 

“Shh,” is all he says. He strokes his finger up to her clit, down again. He slides into her core. Vera grits her teeth and swallows. Normal, she has to appear normal. She has to pretend. She has to be a weary young woman in the back of a cab with her husband. Her coat is draped across her lap for warmth, not because Philip is knuckle-deep in her cunt. His thumb finds her clit. Vera swallows again, and turns her head to gaze blindly out of the window. He’s gentle, so gentle, his thumb just stroking her clit, barely any pressure to it. He adds a second finger to her core but those, too, are gentle. He moves them in an unhurried rhythm, in and out. She’s building to a peak, but slowly, slowly. Philip knows she’ll cry out if it’s hard and fast, and she must stay silent. She must.

He keeps it up for long minutes, that gentle thrust of fingers into her cunt, the slide of his thumb over her clit. Vera has no idea where the taxi is taking them. She has no idea how long it’s been since he slid his hand up her leg. She can’t focus on anything except the tiny movements of his fingers. Hidden beneath her coat, he’s relentless in his quest. She wants to move, to lift her pelvis up and press herself against him. She wants more, deeper and harder. Anywhere else she would do just that. She would demand, with words and body both. But she can’t do that now; she has to stay still and silent. Even when he presses down hard on her clit, just the way he knows she loves, the way that so often tips her straight over into an orgasm. It works now, just as it always does; her muscles tense, her thighs clamping tight around his hand. She can’t help the way her hips jerk a little, nor can she help the way she holds her breath and then lets it out in a long, slow sigh when the last ripples of her peak ease away.

Philip takes his hand away when she relaxes, bringing it out from underneath her coat. He takes his handkerchief from his coat pocket and gives it to her with no more than an arched eyebrow. The driver says something about the traffic for the time of night, and Philip responds casually. Vera carefully, covertly, wipes herself dry. She folds the handkerchief and goes to put it into a pocket of her coat, but Philip plucks it from her hand and puts it back in his own pocket.

“Not long now,” he murmurs. “Yes, it’s very worrying,” he says to the driver, who has commented on the war in Europe. “We have friends in England, but no family, thankfully.”

“I’m going to pay you back for that,” Vera says, leaning against him and speaking very softly into his ear. Her heart is still beating too quickly, her skin too sensitive. She can’t quite believe what just happened. She’s always known he’s dangerous, but this was dangerous in a completely different way. The thrill of exposure, of discovery, the need to keep quiet…it was dangerous, but Vera loved it. She’d do it again, she realises. She’d do it again in a heartbeat, for Philip. With Philip. 

Philip grins, sharp and amused. “I’m counting on it,” he says. “Oh, here – this is it.”

The taxi pulls up outside a row of terraced houses. Vera can’t see much, the nearest streetlamp is some distance down the street, but she can see steps leading up to front doors, and a few bicycles chained to railings. Some of the houses have lights on, peeking out from behind curtains, but the one the taxi has stopped at is dark. If this house has residents, they must be out for the evening. 

“Where _are_ we?” she asks, bemused. Philip is busy paying the driver, and Vera’s too curious to wait for him. She drapes her coat over her arm, opens the car door, and gets out to have a better look. They’re in a residential street, and Vera dimly recalls that they crossed over a bridge. Brooklyn, she thinks. They’re in Brooklyn. She hasn’t ventured here much in her search for jobs, wary of a long commute, but she’s explored a little. She turns to Philip, who has joined her on the pavement, and repeats her question. 

“Brooklyn,” he says. Vera glowers at him, and Philip smiles. There’s no sharpness hiding in this smile though, no gleeful amusement at her confusion or discomfort. It’s a joyful smile. It makes him look younger than he is. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He holds out his hand for her, and when Vera takes it, he pulls her up the steps to the front door of the dark house. He produces a key from a pocket, unlocks the door, and stands aside to let her enter first. “There should be a light switch somewhere on the wall,” he tells her. 

“Oh, it does have lighting?” Vera asks dryly. “You’ve not brought me somewhere dark and out of the way to kill me?” Philip gives a sharp bark of laughter, but doesn’t answer. Vera supposes she doesn’t need one; it had only been a teasing remark. She doesn’t really think Philip will kill her, even on the inevitable day when he stops finding her interesting or is repulsed by the wrongness of her nature. She gropes on the wall, and eventually finds a light switch, close to the front door. She turns the lights on, and a light fixture in the ceiling reveals that she’s standing in a little hallway. There’s a flight of stairs directly in front of her, and a door on either side of the hallway. 

Her suitcase is at the bottom of the stairs, Philip’s beside it. Vera feels a slow, creeping understanding. Like a rope gently coming to rest around her neck and tightening slowly, constricting her breathing. Her mouth is dry and she can’t swallow. Her lips feel glued together; she can’t speak. All the exhilaration from her orgasm in the taxi has faded away. She’s felt so close to him this evening, so close, but that’s gone now. She feels utterly detached from him. This is…this is…

“I paid Mrs Flynn’s maid to pack up our things and bring them over,” Philip says. His voice is quite casual. Either he hasn’t noticed her shock or he’s ignoring it. “Kitchen on the left, sitting room on the right. Two bedrooms upstairs, and a bathroom. There’s a garden too – not too big, but big enough.” He moves past her and opens one of the doors, switches on the light there. She follows him and stands in the doorway, watching as he moves around the kitchen. There’s a table there, and two chairs. A stove, and a kettle. It’s a decent size; space for dining, as well as for cooking. There’s a back door at the far end; Vera assumes it leads into the garden.

She goes to the other door and looks at the sitting room. There’s no furniture in here, only their trunk sitting in the middle of the room. This room is smaller, and the wallpaper is ghastly and floral.

“We’ll get that stripped off,” Philip says. He’s followed her, stands behind her now and rests a hand on her shoulder. “Paint’s cheap enough. It won’t take much work.”

“Yes,” she manages to say, very faintly. “I mean…no. No, not much.” She can’t think about it, can’t begin to try to envisage what colour they might paint the room or how much work it might be to strip the wallpaper from the walls. There’s no carpet in here, just polished floorboards. There is a dim and distant part of her mind that catalogues that, and notes that it will be easier to keep clean while they decorate. But it’s a very distant part, and nearly drowned out by the fear that’s grasped her by the neck and is choking her. She’s choking on it. This is…this is a house, and he’s talking about it as if they own it. As if _he_ owns it. A rented house couldn’t be redecorated, they would have had to put up with whatever the owner wanted. He’s bought this house, then. Bought it for them to live in. 

Philip’s fingers tighten on her shoulder. “Vera,” he says. He’s noticed there’s something wrong. No wonder, for she’s started shaking, showing her fear in an intolerable way. When, she demands of herself, did she stop being able to lie about being afraid? She hadn’t shaken when Cyril died, when Hugo accused her of killing his nephew. Her hands had been steady on Soldier Island when she’d aimed that gun at Philip, certain he was one killing them all off, one by one. It’s Philip who’s done this to her, Philip who’s ruthlessly stripped away all her layers until there’s nothing left to hide behind. She can’t lie to him because he won’t let her. She can’t hide her fear now. 

“Vera,” he says again. He uses his hand on her shoulder to swing her around, to make her face him. Vera keeps her eyes lowered, tries to keep some small part of herself hidden. Hiding is how she has always survived. She won’t look at him now. She can’t. “Vera,” Philip says. “I told you I’d find us a place.” She nods. “What did you think I meant? Some rented flat somewhere?” 

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I suppose so.” 

“I figured this would be better,” he says. There’s a sharp note in his voice now, something that should warn her to be careful. But she can’t be careful, because she _can’t lie to him_. There’s nothing she can do to guard herself, nothing she can say to cover her mistakes. “More permanent,” he goes on. “Decent neighbourhood. Not too far from the bridge. I can get out and about easily, and you’ll be able to find work with a permanent address.” Vera nods again. Philip grasps her chin suddenly and lifts her head, and when Vera closes her eyes to avoid looking at him, he _snarls_. “Christ, Vera,” he snaps. “I thought you’d be _happy_.”

“Let me go,” Vera says, through gritted teeth. She tries to pull away from him. He doesn’t let her go; she struggles against his superior strength and feels unwelcome tears prick at her eyes. She lifts a hand and thumps her fist against his chest. “Let me _go_ ,” she hisses. “Let me go, Philip, let me –,”

He releases her. Vera staggers back, collides with the sitting room door, and barely keeps herself upright. She gasps for air, but it feels like she’s choking on every breath. Philip says nothing, but she can feel him staring at her. She can feel the way his anger is growing, a physical force in the room with them. 

“I told you I’d find you a place,” he says at last. Vera risks a glance at him. His face is a blank mask, expressionless. There’s no anger there, no frustration. Just cold, empty eyes. She’s seen him like this before, but not for a while. It’s worse than when he shows his anger, this blankness. “I told you, Vera.” He’s too close to her. She wants to put distance between them, but she doesn’t dare move. She’s reminded, now, of just how powerful he is. He has power over her physically, but it’s so much more than that. So much more. He has too much power over her, over her heart and her mind, and this house…this house is just one more sign of that. If it was forever, if she could trust that he would be hers, always, the way she wants…

She can’t trust it. She can’t. He missed her, he’d said earlier, but one might miss a pet, after an absence of a few days. He treats her like an animal, sometimes. Like a feral creature needing to be tamed. And she _is_ that, Vera _knows_ she is like that sometimes, but she’s a woman too, and though her feelings are stunted and warped, still she feels things. Dear God, she thinks, how did this happen? Her heart is twisted and malformed, but something has flourished there. Love has flourished there. 

But nobody that Vera has ever wanted, ever loved, has stayed with her. Nobody.

“I promised I’d take care of you,” Philip reminds her. “You remember that, Vera?” He doesn’t pause for an answer; Vera can’t speak, anyway, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “I damn well meant it.” He steps close to her, grasps her wrists before she can push him away. “I have _never_ wanted to make that promise before,” he says roughly. “Never. I want to be with you, Vera – God help me, but I even want you when you’re – _Christ_.” He lowers his head, presses his mouth to hers. He’s angry, vicious with it, kissing her hard and then biting her lower lip. Vera submits to it. She stands trembling, her hands trapped, her back pressed against the door. There’s no responding to this kiss. He’s taking and possessing and marking her as his. 

When he lets her go, lets her gasp in air, it’s only because he’s kissing across her jaw, her throat. He nuzzles against her neck, and then bites her there, too. Vera can’t help her reactions; she arches up into him, letting her head fall to one side. She wants him, she wants all of him, she wants him to be hers forever. But she can’t trust him, she mustn’t. She mustn’t trust anyone. That’s the first lesson she learned, the first childhood memory. Don’t trust anyone. Nobody wants her, not really. Nobody could love her. Nobody wants a strange creature like her. Hide away, and keep safe. That’s how she lives. It’s how she’s had to live.

Philip breathes against her neck, hot breaths of air. “Tell me,” he rasps, “what exactly do you think is going on here, Vera?”

“I don’t know,” Vera whispers. “I don’t know.” She’s still shaking. She can’t stop. She closes her eyes and feels a tear falling down her cheek. Philip inhales sharply, and then he kisses the tear away. 

“What is it going to take for you to understand?” he demands. “I’m not after a quick fuck here, Vera. I could have that with anyone.” He laps up a second tear, and a third, licking salty trails from her face. “Vera, Vera,” he murmurs. “Maybe that’s what scares you. Maybe you’re scared of what this is. Somebody actually _seeing_ you and still wanting you.” He’s too close to the mark. Vera weeps silently, and Philip just keeps kissing and licking away tears, like he wants this too. He wants her tears as well as everything else. “This house is ours,” he tells her. “Yours and mine. I’ve told you before, Vera, I’m never going to find anybody like you. You – you _fascinate_ me.” He’s pressed close against her now, hip to hip, chest to chest. He’s warm, and he’s real, and Vera wants to trust him. She wants to trust him so badly. “I’m going to take care of you,” he says again. “I can’t imagine ever wanting to walk away from you.” She chokes on a sob and Philip soothes her, kissing her mouth and her cheeks and her eyelids. Vera can’t bear it, she can’t bear this. 

“Nobody,” she whispers, “nobody has ever…” She’s shaking so badly that her teeth are chattering, and she can hardly form words. But Philip is patient, so patient. His sharp, fierce anger seems to have played itself out, and now he seems prepared to wait for her. Vera tries again. “Everybody I have ever wanted,” she confesses, “has been taken away from me.”

He releases her wrists and pulls her into his arms. She doesn’t resist, letting him move her like a doll. Like a puppet. He puts an arm around her waist and tangles a hand in her hair, pressing her head down to rest on his shoulder. He sways her, rocking her like a child, and Vera finds herself clinging to him. They stand like that for long minutes, silent but for her sobs, which fade away under his comfort. 

At last she stops crying, and then Philip loosens his hold on her. Just enough to pull back and look at her, two fingers beneath her chin to stop her looking away. But Vera’s confessed the truth now; there’s nothing more to hide. She’s too tired, anyway, to try to evade him. She is exhausted. She cannot believe that it was only a few hours ago that she put on her red dress and looked forward to an evening of dancing. She left off her knickers so he could fuck her easily after, but now the last thing Vera wants is sex. She just wants him to hold her. She wants him to mean what he says, and she wants to believe it. She wants him to hold her and never let her go.

“Now, listen to me,” Philip commands. Vera meets his eyes and waits. “You and me, we belong together. And I’m not about to let anyone take me away from you. You’re going to have to trust that sooner or later, Vera.” She wants to shake her head, she wants to spill out the list of people who had claimed to like her, to love her even, and then left her alone in coldness and darkness and isolation. Philip doesn’t let her do that; he keeps talking before she can even draw breath to speak. “Not today,” he says, “or tomorrow, or next week. But some day you’re going to have to trust me.”

“I do,” she manages to whisper. “I do trust you, I do, it’s just…”

Philip shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Not down here.” He touches her breast, over her heart. “That’s fine,” he says. “You’ve been hurt. I get it. But I’m not like the rest of them, Vera. You know that. And you…you could never be happy with any of them anyway. You’re better than _any_ of them. You’re glorious, darling. You could never be happy with ordinary.”

Vera lifts her hands to her cheeks, flushing from the admiration in his voice. She’s so off-kilter, she’s so out of control, that she can’t help blushing. She can’t help showing how pleasurable it is, to hear him say things like that to her. To be praised by him, to be told she’s glorious, that she’s not twisted or wrong or evil, but _better_. Better than any of them.

“Philip,” she says softly, “I – I’m trying.”

“I know,” he assures her. And he does know. She knows that he can see how much she’s trying, how she’s struggling. Because he sees _everything_. He sees right through her. She lifts her head for a kiss, and Philip bestows one readily. He’s gentle now, and painfully tender. It’s as soothing as it was being held by him. She doesn’t want it to end, this kiss, but far too soon Philip gently detaches himself. “There’s a bed upstairs,” he says. “Clean sheets waiting. Time for some rest, hm?”

Vera smiles, a weak and tremulous smile but a smile nonetheless. “Mrs Flynn’s maid made the bed?” she asks. Philip nods. Vera wipes her cheeks with her hands, for lack of a handkerchief. She needs to wash her face, to splash wet water on her hot cheeks to clean away the streaked make-up and the signs of her tears. A bathroom upstairs, he’d said. “Bring the suitcases?” she suggests, and Philip smiles a tight smile and nods again.

He goes up the stairs first, leading the way up and across the landing to a bedroom at the back of the house. It must overlook the garden, but of course Vera can’t see anything in the dark. There’s a double bed, and a chest of drawers, but nothing else in the room. It’s not a large room, but a decent enough size for the two of them. The bathroom is smaller, but the bath tub is big and everything seems clean and dry. There’s another bedroom, too, but Vera doesn’t do more than note where it is. They have no use for it, except as storage.

It all seems lovely, this house that Philip has acquired for them. Tomorrow Vera will have to ask how he afforded it, whether there’s a mortgage, and insist on paying her share. Tomorrow she will try to look at the house and realise that it is hers, that this is her home now. That she _has_ a home now. But tonight she is too weary to think about any of it.

She splashes cold water on her face in the bathroom, and uses the toilet, and brushes her teeth. Philip takes his turn when she’s done, while she strips off her dress and her shoes and rummages in her suitcase for the shirt she’s been using as a night dress. His shirt. Vera forces herself to acknowledge that she finds comfort in wearing his shirt. She likes wearing it, because it’s his. Not just because she likes the possessive gleam in his eyes when he sees her wearing it, but because she likes to feel wrapped up in him. Cradled and cared for by him, even in sleep.

The mattress isn’t new; it sags in the middle. But it’s clean, and doesn’t smell of damp. Vera pulls the blankets up to her chin and waits for Philip. Her eyes are sore from crying, and the cold bed is bringing her shivers back. She grits her teeth to keep them from chattering, and when Philip joins her in the bed she turns into him and tries to steal his warmth.

“There now,” he says gently. “You cold?” He rubs her back, her arms. Vera wraps an arm around his waist to keep herself anchored to him, and Philip chuckles, a rumble deep in his chest. “You prickly little hedgehog,” he says, amused. “All sharp spines and soft belly. Come on, now, just hold on to me.”

“I’m trying,” Vera whispers. “I’m trying, Philip.” He’s wearing pyjamas tonight, so she can’t feel skin against her cheek. She can’t kiss his chest or rub her cold nose against him. She closes her eyes and listens to his heartbeat. “I missed you, too,” she says after a while, very quietly. She half-hopes that perhaps he won’t hear her, perhaps she spoke too softly. Perhaps he’ll ask her to speak up and she can change what she said, substitute some other words. But he’s asked her to trust him. He’s bought her a home and asked her to trust him. It’s not so very much to give him, an admission that she missed him while he was away from her. It’s not very much at all.

Philip hears her, of course. “I know you did, darling,” he says. His hand lifts from her back to her head, and he strokes her head gently. “I know you did. But I’m glad you’ve said it.”

Vera can’t trust him with more, not yet. But the warmth in his voice tells her that she’s given him enough, at least for now. She takes a deep breath, lets it out, and lets his soothing caresses lull her into sleep.


End file.
